


Observations of the Sick, Dying, and Deceased

by kali_with_a_c



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Rating May Change, Red Plague (The Arcana), The Lazaret (The Arcana), Writing Exercise, did not fact check, kinda boring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 09:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17598575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_with_a_c/pseuds/kali_with_a_c
Summary: Memories from the apprentice during their time at the Lazaret.





	Observations of the Sick, Dying, and Deceased

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to improve the detail in my writing. It's kinda boring but the point is to put you in a somber mood, to take you there. I imagine the lazaret had many its own horrid tales, so I wanted to explore that. Probably will add more chapters up until the apprentice's death.
> 
> Also it's 6 am so no I did not fact check sorry if somethings not exactly canon.

The air smelled foul. It always did. Especially here, in this wasteland of death and disease. As if the ash wasn’t enough to clog your airways on the mainland, now you were covered with it. Suffocated and choked. Gagged and bound by the heavy black clouds that glowed red in the sunlight. Occasionally you’d find yourself rubbing ashes together on your fingers. They were so soft—like butterfly wings—then they’d fade away. Another black stain on your skin. You knew they were once a person, or perhaps two, or maybe an article of clothing but you didn’t care. Couldn't care. That was the fate of everyone on the island, be damned or not. 

Surprisingly, the closer to the incinerator you were, the better it smelt; like roasting meat on an open fire. It was the disease that reeked. The island was simply a dumping ground. Where the glorious count threw the sick and left them to die. People in various stages of the disease lived here, in not exact harmony. There was no order or rules, though none were needed. 

There’s a certain bond that people share when they’re doomed to a similar fate. As social animals, we prefer companionship in our darkest hours, and what is darker than death? Children— abandoned by choice or taken by force— found solace in the elders that remained on the island. They played with others in the streets, amongst the dead and dying, until they could play no more. You had recognized a woman— a mother, in the boat with you. She was a regular at the shop. She sat, desperately clinging to her child. You remember when she told you she was pregnant, and the joy that illuminated her face when she did. You remembered that she had trouble conceiving for the longest time. She said a child would mean the world to her, and now that world was falling apart between ragged breaths and bloodied eyes.

Her face was obscured under a light-gray shaw, but as if on cue, she looked at you. She was crying and had been for a while as her eyes were irritated and puffy. But they were not red. She was not infected.

You wanted to shout, to help, to _save_ her. One person spared the terrible disease was one person saved, but her eyes begged a silent plea. She would not let her child die alone, even if that meant she had to die too. At that moment you understood. A drop of seawater landed on your hand as the boat encountered a wave. You looked at the lazaret. Golden in the sunset, it was a pinnacle of light under the dark clouds. It beckoned to you with open arms, and you went willingly into its grasp. Safe, forever, in the land of fire and ash.


End file.
